Deceptive Truth
by PrussianKnight9
Summary: Germany was Italy's best friend, & vice versa. There was no reason to think otherwise; he knew it. But then again, when has Italy ever been recognized for what he knows? He didn't want to lose his only friend, yet the signs were so clear; Germany was getting distant. He's scared, but who will actually be there for him? A chain of strange events lead to twisted realizations. AU.


**I know I'm not really in the position to be making new stories, but every time my teacher talks about WWI & WWII and its countries I can't stop thinking back to the Hetalia characters, so I just had to make one. I'm sorry. (It's actually, surprisingly, quite hard trying to write a decent fanfic in 's perspective, by the way. Even after editing, this chapter still sounds a little wonky and awkward to me. I guess I'm just not used to such happy people...? I truly respect and admire all those who've produced wonderful stories, successfully speaking from his P.O.V without making it sound like a train wreck. xD)**

**~*IMPORTANT; PLEASE READ*~**

**Please note that due to the fact that I am pants at History,_ things will NOT be historically accurate_. I mean, I gotta start somewhere, but please do not read this as an educational documentary; this is for pure enjoyment of the Hetalia fandom ONLY, utilizing only the characters of the anime and _NOT what they imply, nor what their history implies in real life_. I apologize for any offence I might have unintentionally arose before, during, or after reading the fanfic. **

**Anyways, all seriousness and formalities aside...**

**This is an Alternate Universe story. Enjoy!**

* * *

Sometimes, it's hard to believe the 'truth', even if it presents itself in front of you on a silver platter. Sometimes, the false enmity will wrap itself up with sheets labelled 'truth', so that you'll be ensured into believing it's the truth. Whether it is from the deliberate works of evil hands, or simply the processing of our own minds, truth may unintentionally deceive us, thus consequently one falls into a sea of illusions and false prejudice.

Which then brings us to the next question; how should one overcome this one definite flaw in the department of indefinite truths and judgement? Different solutions lead to different consequences, be it good or not. One says to themself: letting ourselves become emulsified by the deceptive truth should be no harm, since it _is,_ in fact, the truth. Well, is it? The notion that one understands the truth but actually translates the meaning into another, twisted direction, deliberately or not, should be given second thoughts as to if it really is worthy of consideration.

Lastly, there remains the source of it all; the one's mind which where all of this has occurred. Must we blame them? It depends on the character since as human beings we tend to pity the weak, and rebuke the capable hands. It is only natural to forgive those with no power, whilst we blame the stronger ones for the unfair judgements that others concoct from their biased speculations. It is in our nature that we see to their punishments, some of which are so severe, that the consequences are irreversible.

...

One such fate was not so different.

* * *

~*o*~

* * *

Perhaps it was the extravagant way the sun shone through the curtains, hitting the pillows and sheets of the bed in the room, or the fact that he had gotten up a whole hour earlier than his usual routine, but when Italy emerged from the mass of blankets, he felt as if it was going to be another great, even better, day.

Getting up early (well, early in Italy's mind, of course) wasn't something that he was used to, so glancing at the clock and reading 9:25 am was a strange feeling, although not unpleasant. He'd gone to bed quite early the other day due to spending his entire afternoon chasing his brother around insisting that they play, only to be rejected and get pushed down a hill more than once by a fuming Italian.

Speaking of which, Italy was not going to let this wonderful day go to waste. He was already beginning to plan out what he was going to do, a lot of them which involved napping and pasta-making, but his first priority was spending time with his best friend of all times; Germany. He'd tried many times to get the man to participate with more of his fun activities, but each request had been politely refused (unlike a certain older brother), saying that work was more important.

To be honest, Italy wondered just what sort of work Germany did so much that it took literally almost all day every day, hardly stopping to rest except for quick meal breaks. They were the same fellow countries, and yet Germany always seemed to be busy with paperwork while the brunette did absolutely nothing, and everything continued to roll along just fine without him poring over books and papers. It was an enigma how he managed to get up at six every morning despite turning in for bed past midnight all the time. Maybe that was why Germany always looked mildly irritated, although that might just be Italy's fault; which he couldn't help, of course. Nevertheless, it would not dampen Italy's spirits. Today, he was going to go visit his friend and maybe try and convince him to go play soccer.

He rapidly got dressed in his regular attire, abandoning his military uniform, grabbed a loaf of bread from the fridge, jumped into his car and slammed his foot onto the accelerator, nearly crashing into four trees and an ice cream vendor. He sped past police officers who were napping in their cars with their seats reclined. Besides, even if they were awake, they wouldn't give him a ticket anyway; they all knew who he was. Before he knew it, he was pulling up at Germany's house in his usual parking spot. He hurried up the front steps and rang the doorbell numerous times without pause, until he thought he was going to break the poor contraption.

Literally three seconds later, Italy heard heavy footfalls scrambling down a set of stairs and the door thrust open with such a force it threatened to be torn off its hinges. Italy was met by a breathless man with tousled blonde hair and wild, startled blue eyes, whose posture visibly relaxed when it was clear that it wasn't an emergency. He was dressed in his full uniform, as always.

"Hi, Germany!" Italy chirped happily, waving. "Good morning!"

"I— wha—" Germany still seemed a bit at a disarray, but managed to pull himself together quick enough. His blank face molded back into its usual, stern demeanor, although it didn't have its full effect due to the dark circles under his dulling eyes. "Italy," he greeted. "What are you doing here at this time of the day?"

"I was able to get up early today!" Italy replied cheerfully. "Can you believe it? Aren't you proud of me, Germany?"

"...Yeah, that's great." Germany scratched head awkwardly. "That's good but next time, don't go overboard with my doorbell like that. I thought someone was— dying, or something," he quickly finished off.

"I'm sorry!" Italy threw himself into his friend's arms, whether the other wanted it or not. "I'll never do it again. Heh, Germany is so kind! He will never let his friends get hurt! Right?"

"Right, now please let me go," Germany choked, beginning to turn blue as his air supply got cut off.

"Oops! Sorry," Italy apologized again, and quickly did as told. He resorted to putting on his brightest grin.

The tall German blinked. "Well, er, you can come in, I guess, instead of just standing here." He stepped aside for Italy who immediately accepted the offer and strode in to what he considered his second home. The familiar kitchen and lounge was just visible around the corner and the stairs that led to the next floor, and the other halls that led to various different rooms.

"Ve~, say, can I make some pasta?" It was something he always asked the minute he got here.

Germany shut and locked the door, waving him off. "Yeah, go ahead. Just don't make a mess." Before anyone could say anything else, he turned sharply, headed back up the flight of stairs and disappeared into what was presumably his office. There was the faint click of a door closing.

Italy's face fell a bit at this. He was hoping he'd be able to converse with the man about little things this and that, and have a good time. But then again, Germany might not have been the best person at small talk, and he did look tired. Shrugging, he turned back to the task at hand and took out the flour.

...

After a great deal of kneading, rolling, mixing, stirring, and tasting, it was finished. Italy was just placing the pasta onto a couple of plates when Germany reappeared, nose wrinkling slightly at the white powder that coated the majority of the counter.

"Oh! You're just in time!" Italy hurriedly brought the plates over to the table and placed the cutlery alongside it as well. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold!"

Germany sat down in the chair opposite to Italy, and picked up his fork. That was when Italy noticed that the man was looking a little more irritated than usual; his darker eyes and creased brow was a new addition to the dark circles, and the corners of his mouth were slightly downcast into a small frown. Whatever happened within the few hours of pasta-making obviously hadn't been good. He began to poke and stir at the pasta but not exactly eating it. For a split second, Italy hesitated as to what to do. This wasn't the first time this had happened; there had been plenty of other occurences where Germany had been feeling down, but usually Italy's cheerful mood would rub off and everything would be fine again. Today, however, it seemed that it would take a little more than a bright smile and a happy 'hello'.

Italy composed himself quickly; pretending he didn't notice anything, he said, "Is the sauce okay? I hope it's not too bland. I accidentally added a whole extra cup of water when I was making it."

It was a stupid question, really, because Germany hadn't even lifted the fork up to his mouth yet. But this ended up forcing him to eat a small portion of the food, and he chewed slowly, mulling over the taste. "It's wonderful," he assured him with a smile that looked more like a pained grimace. "As always."

"I added some wurst I found in the fridge, so that you'll like it more! I also found the instructions in the cupboard on how to cook it to the right point." At this, Germany looked up, looking somewhat surprised. His gaze trailed back down to the plate and sure enough, the end of a small sausage was poking out of the pile of sauce and noodles. His facial features softened somewhat, and a small smile pulled at his lips.

"Thank you," he said after a moment, still smiling, although he seemed a bit embarrassed. "I really appreciate that."

Italy grinned. "No problem!" In the end it didn't take too much effort; he always lightened up the mood. No matter what happened.

They ended up eating the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, with Italy breaking out into a song every once in a while. By the time they were finished, Germany's stance was much more relaxed, his face a slightly healthier shade.

"Shouldn't you be with your brother or something?" Germany was wiping down the counters making sure not a speck of flour was missed, and Italy hummed a random tune as he scrubbed the plates.

"What, Romano?" he shrugged. "No, not really. He's usually with big brother Spain a lot or just by himself, and every time I try to go play with him he always kicks me out."

"That's not very nice of him," Germany commented, moving closer so that he could rinse the washcloth.

"It's okay, he's always like that," Italy said cheerfully. "He's just very shy sometimes."

Germany snorted at that, but didn't say anything. He wiped his hands with a towel, and started to head out.

Italy panicked, and yelled, "Wait!". He might not have another chance again, as the German seemed to be constantly attracted towards the room on the second floor.

The blonde paused, and turned around with a questioning look.

"Um, well, I was wondering..." Italy chewed on his lower lip, afraid of the answer. "Since we haven't seen each other in a bit... do you want to go play soccer with me?"

Germany hesitated, his lips pressing together to form a thin line. Italy felt the answer before it was said. "No," the man finally replied, an apologetic tone laced in his voice. "I have a lot of paperwork to do that my boss gave me. I'm sorry."

"Oh..." It was something that he always asked; there was nothing special about this day, and Italy didn't know why he'd believed that today would be any different. It was also the same excuse he'd heard for as long as he could remember. "That's okay. Next time then?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, next time," said Germany with that small smile again. "I promise."

Italy instantly felt better. "Cool!" He ran up to hug the tall man who awkwardly returned the gesture before they pulled away, the brunette still smiling pleasantly. "You're so nice, Germany..."

Said person coughed, and quickly turned towards the direction of the stairs. "Well, I'll be up in my office. Try not to destroy anything, please." He began the ascension.

"Wait! Can I come with you?"

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Maybe I could help!"

"I honestly doubt that, Italy," Germany said with a small shake of his head, but he did look amused. He disappeared to the second floor, leaving Italy by himself.

Unable to think of anything else to do for the moment, Italy decided to get some air and explore a bit. Perhaps he could socialize with some girls that didn't look as scary. But as he exited the house and walked the streets of Germany, he found it to be strangely empty. There were still a few people bustling by, but compared to the busy late mornings of other weekdays it seemed quite deserted. Curious, Italy wandered off to the park, and found that it was mostly bare as well. He spent some time chasing a squirrel and petting a stray cat he found sauntering in the shady areas near the trees, before stretching and, feeling strangely bored, turning to head off someplace else.

_Where is everybody? _Italy wondered to himself, a bit confused. Right when he was about to turn to go back to Germany's house, he heard someone calling his name.

"Italy? Is that you?"

The brunette turned and to his surprise, Japan was headed his way. Instead of normal wear, he was adorned with his white, formal uniform complete with the sleek shining cap. In his hands, he carried a large box wrapped in a green cloth tied at the top. "Japan!" he called happily, glad to see someone he knew in this lifeless place. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to deliver some files that Mr. Germany must look over; our bosses have been very strict with the both of us lately. Also, I've brought along some miso and teriyaki, so that he doesn't starve himself." Japan cocked his head slightly. "Pardon my rudeness, but what brings you here so early? Aren't you usually in bed at this hour?"

"I got up early," he told the man proudly. "And I'm sure Germany doesn't starve himself, he's crazy about his health. Ve, Japan, do you know what's going on here? Why is nobody outside? Did something happen?"

Japan remained impassive, his dark eyes unreadable as they gazed at the brunette. Italy impatiently waited for a response, not understanding the other's silence. "How is Mr. Germany doing, Italy?" Japan's asked suddenly, ignoring the previous question.

Still bemused, Italy stared for a moment before saying, "Um, he's good! Well, he's still doing a lot of work, but he always does that. I mean, I asked him if he wanted to play soccer with me today, and he said no. But he promised he would next time! Germany is a nice guy, he always keeps his promises!"

Japan smiled then, and one would've noticed a hint of pity in his eyes, which was gone quickly. "Yes, he does," he said softly, and his smiled faltered a little then. "He always does. You have nothing to worry about, Italy."

"Ve, Japan, you're scaring me," Italy whined. "What's going on? What's wrong, huh?"

"Ah, well..." There was a clear of the throat; Japan seemed very reluctant to say something, but he began anyway. "I've just heard that there were a few things that did not go as expected, and there have been some serious repercussions. It means that Mr. Germany is not well," he added at Italy's befuddled face. "I am not sure as to what extent—"

"What!? No! That can't be!" Italy was wringing his hands, shocked. "You mean Germany is sick!?"

"Ah, perhaps not in _that _sense—"

"Germany, please don't die!" wailed Italy, running around in circles at a loss as to what to do. "No! You're my bestest friend!"

"Italy, I'm sure nothing's fatally—"

"I have to go see him right now! Sorry Japan!" With those words, Italy bolted back to Germany's house. It all seemed to make sense now. Why there was hardly anyone out on the streets, turning the lively place into a deserted graveyard, and why Germany had acted as such at the time.

He arrived at the house faster than he ever had before, and was about to demolish the doorbell again when he remembered the little talk they had, and knocked furiously instead. His knuckles began to hurt, so he switched to pounding on the door with both fists. He didn't stop until the door was yanked open for the second time and he nearly fell right over if he hadn't been stopped by a solid chest that he smacked right into, face-first.

"Germany!" Without even looking up to see his face, Italy hurled himself at the figure and wrapped his arms around the man for the third time into a fierce hug. "Please don't die on me! I'm sorry I'm so bad at fighting and for sleeping and eating pasta all the time! I'll train harder every day to become strong like you, I promise! I'm sorry I make you mad and I'm sorry that I'm so annoying! I'll shut up if you tell me to but I'll always be there for you and—"

"Hey, hey, slow down!" He was pried away and a pair of concerned blue eyes swam into his vision. "Are you alright? You're all sweaty."

"I don't want you dead," sniffed Italy sadly. "I want you alive and smiling."

"Who said I was going to die?" Germany asked, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. "I'm right here."

"But... Japan said..."

"Japan?" Those soft blue eyes suddenly morphed into hard, icy stones at the name. "What did he tell you?"

"Mr. Germany!" Speak of the devil. The two of them turned to see a breathless Japan stumbling over his own feet as he hurried over to the rest of the Axis, the large box swinging in his hand, cap slipping off his head. "Please, do not take things personally. Italy was inquiring about your empty streets, and so I had come up a couple possibilities for the reason and merely suggested that you were unwell. Forgive me for my impetuous behavior. I should've known that Italy would not take it well."

"That's... okay, I guess." The harsh gaze was gone, only to be replaced by the original confusion. "Italy, stop crying. I'm not sick, and I'll never die, alright?"

"But why is your place so..."

"That's..." Germany trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. However, he quickly shook his head. "I'm just tired from all the work I had to do," he assured. "The people are all taking a break as well. They'll be out soon enough."

"Oh, speaking of work; Mr. Germany, I have some more here to be reviewed." Japan untied the box and opened it; he took out a rather thick stack of papers with lengthy print scored upon it and handed it to a scowling blonde. "It includes a several set of bills which were not able to pass into—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Germany rubbed his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Not for now, although we are in the process of decoding some of the British airforce intel we received during—"

"Okay, whatever; when will I get them?" Germany asked tiredly.

"Sometime by the end of this month."

"Very well. I do hope you're looking into those blueprints I sent you."

"Oh, we are. Do not worry; we will have them ready within December. However, please be aware of the contracts you must sign in order to show proof that—"

"Yes, I know," Germany said impatiently. "I'm sorry Japan, but I'm really busy right now, as you probably already know." It was obvious that he wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"No problem." Japan took the hint, and held out the rest of the box. "Take this, and make sure you do not skip meals."

"Thank you." Japan nodded at both men, and turned to leave.

"What was that about?" Italy's head hurt just by listening to all this foreign, complicated talk about contracts and whatnot. "Germany, I—"

"Nothing, it's just what I have to do. As you probably understand as well, I have a lot of work and I really don't have time to play soccer right now." There was a hint of frustration in his tone, though not directed at Italy.

"But maybe you could just tell one of your officers to do it for you..."

Germany sighed. "I know, but these are very important and I have to make sure they're done the correct way, and I can't afford any mistakes. I'm very sorry, Italy," he added softly. "I'll try to get them done as soon as I can, and then we can go play soccer."

"That's okay, you don't have to apologize," Italy said, smiling hesitantly. "We can always get together another time. I'm going to go home and have a siesta. Bye!" He waved and headed for his car, and sped home.

...

Only, he didn't end up having a siesta at all. He laid in his bed for a long time, tossing and turning. He hated thinking too much; he just wanted to be happy and eat pasta and sleep, but all of these events just didn't seem to make sense when he put them together and curiosity was eating away at him. He didn't understand why he was trying to even make sense of everything in the first place. He tried to forget it, but it remained lingering at the back of his mind like a shadow. He sighed for the umpteenth time.

"What the hell are you sulking about?" Italy turned his head and saw his big brother Romano leaning against the open doorframe and crossing his arms in an annoyed fashion. "Don't tell me you puked after eating too much pasta again."

"No..." Italy couldn't bring himself to smile anymore; his cheeks hurt from resting them in his hands for too long. "It's just, Germany—"

"What?" Romano straightened up and his glare intensified in an instant. "What did that bastard do!? If he so much as raised a fist against you then—"

"It's not like that!" Italy cut in quickly, but Romano wasn't listening.

"—hope he likes nuts, because he'll be tasting them after I kick him so hard in the—"

"No! What are you saying!?" Italy cried frantically, scrambling over to wrestle his brother back in place before he kept true to his word. "Don't hurt him; he didn't do anything, brother!"

"Then what the fuck is your problem?" snapped Romano.

"I just— I don't know." Italy had not meant that to come out as a whine, but he couldn't help the sadness that washed over him. "Germany's been acting weirder lately. He barely comes out of his office and doesn't want to play with me. He and Japan always talk about things I don't understand and whenever I ask, they just wave it off like it's not important. But I can tell that it is, brother, otherwise they wouldn't be spending so much time on it."

Romano pulled free from his restraints, and snorted. "Well, that's not surprising," he muttered.

"What? Why?"

"Can't you see it? He's avoiding you. He doesn't want to be around you anymore." He rolled his eyes. "Knew this day would come..."

"No way!" Italy stuttered, taken aback at this. "Germany likes me a lot! He always protects me and ties my shoelaces and tries to make me stronger and—"

"That's all just an act. Are you honestly that dense? Well, maybe that's why he can put up such a crappy act and get away with it." Romano scoffed. "Fucking macho piece of shit, sneaky, manipulative bastard—"

"Don't talk about him like that!"

"I'm pretty sure someone like him wouldn't want a weak, clingy person attached to their arms for their entire life. Isn't he all about fighting wars and blood and other dark shit like that? Can _you_ fight and win a war by yourself? That's what I thought. You and he don't match at all. He's tired of having you around and saving your ass all the time."

"You're lying! Germany is really nice! He told me I was his friend and that he'd never abandon me! He promised!"

"Have you ever seen that bastard keep his promises?" Romano glared, and it took a great deal of effort on Italy's part not to cower under it. "What makes you so sure he'll keep yours?"

"He promised me that we'd be best friends! He promised that he'd always look after me and I'll do the same! And he's doing it, can't you see!?"

"That's all going to change soon," Romano said nastily. "Just you wait; when it comes to the crucial moment; when it _really_ matters, he'll betray you and save himself. To him, you're not worth his life! I keep telling you to not go hanging around guys like him, and this is why!"

"That's not true!" Italy yelled, feeling tears springing into the corners of his eyes. "Germany always keeps his word!"

"Listen to me, you idiotic little brother," Romano hissed. "I'll ask you again; how do you know if the potato bastard keeps his promises or not? Have you actually seen for yourself?"

Italy opened his mouth to argue back, but found that he couldn't answer, and his stomach churned with a twinge of uncertainty. It was true, he hadn't really witnessed the German actually go out of his way to keep a promise, but that was understandable because Italy had never seen him make any promises to anyone else in the first place. Which was a completely valid reason for him to say no, yet still... Romano's words left a tiny sliver of doubt wedged in his chest and he didn't like it.

The older Italian was staring down at the sniffling mess with a triumphant look on his face. "Well, you decide, Feliciano. IF you want to keep hanging around under that bastard's nose, then be my guest." There was a slight malice in his tone even as he said it. "Just don't talk to me about him and his _heroic deeds_ and 'greatness'. And if he kicks you out of his house one day then don't say I didn't warn you."

With those words ringing in Italy's ears, Romano stalked away.

The brunette was left to slouch alone, still hiccupping slightly. His brother hadn't helped at all and even had managed to make Italy more apprehensive. His steel confidence was wavering slightly; a part of him knew that he could be easily influenced by other people, and he admitted himself that that was one of the reasons why he'd been so easily controlled back then. However, he couldn't help but become weak and practically useless in battles, when he hated fighting so much. The sound of guns and bombs caused him nightmares; he didn't want anyone to die whether it was on his own side or the enemy's. After all, they were human, too.

_Have you ever seen that macho bastard keep his promises? What makes you so sure he'll keep yours?_

Just what had his brother meant by that, anyway? He'd spoken as if he knew something about Germany that Italy didn't. Italy was determined to prove him wrong. He knew the German better than anyone else and he just knew that the man would keep his promises no matter what it took. After all, he was that sort of person. Wiping his eyes fiercely with his sleeve, he suddenly felt a strong impulse to get evidence. He would see with his own eyes the proof that Germany was indeed the nice guy he'd known him to be. It would take some time, with him being stuck in his office and all, but Italy would drag him out to save a cat stuck in a tree if he had to.

~*o*~

Unfortunately for Italy, he was unable to take his plan into action because Spain had visited the brothers, and the three of them had spent a whole day chatting animatedly before leaving for dinner over at _Bon Sejour_. France happily greeted them and while he and Spain began discussing other affairs, the Italian brothers tucked into the generous amounts of food and wine. It wasn't before Italy had begun to feel warm and sleepy from being so full, that it was time to leave. Romano fell asleep as soon as he hit the car seat, and Italy followed him almost right away. He had a vague sense of someone tucking him into bed, until everything was all forgotten.

The next time Italy awakened, it was noon. He yawned, stretching contently as he glanced at his dresser. His eyes fell onto a mug with the German flag printed on its side (something he accidentally stole from Germany when he'd been drinking chocolate milk; he'd meant to give it back, but just kept on forgetting) and everything came crumbling down on him again as he remembered his little quarrel with his brother. Still frustrated with the way Romano had acted like he knew all about the German, Italy was back to sulking and trying to come up with ways to convince him that it wasn't right.

He wanted to go over to his friend's house right away, but there was still a lingering fear in his gut, as if everything Romano said would suddenly come true. He was also bad at hiding his emotions, so the German would definitely notice something was going on if he showed up now. Italy frowned, he himself finding it unusual for someone like him to be making so many predictions. Nevertheless, he eventually decided that today wasn't a good day and decided to stay home.

Unfortunately, his alternate plans of staying on the couch and being lazy didn't exactly go as intended, either. There was a sharp knock on his door, and when he trudged up to answer it, he was surprised when he was met by none other than England, hair and uniform at a slight disarray, even more so than usual.

Obviously, the visitor hadn't been expecting him either. They stared at each other dumbly for a few moments, before Italy waved and smiled. "Hi!" he said cheerfully. "Long time no see!"

"Er, well— indeed," England blinked and stammered as he broke out of his previous stupor, his large eyebrows rising. "I was told I would be able to find Spain here..."

"Big brother Spain?" Italy cocked his head. "Hm, well he's not here at the moment. He usually visits us a lot, but I think he had to go somewhere after he took us out to dinner last night."

"I see..." The Brit screwed up his face in irritation. "Well then, I guess there's nothing I can do about it, then. Uh, sorry for the interruption, whatever you were doing."

"No problem! Hey, what do you need big brother Spain for?" Italy called when the man started to turn to leave.

England suddenly looked very disgruntled; he was trying to hide it, but it was evident in his face, and hair. "Well, I'm not quite sure if I'm allowed to tell you..." he hesitated for a moment more. "But you probably wouldn't understand anyway," Italy heard him muttering under his breath. "I was sent to collect papers from neighbouring countries and send it off," he said, this time a bit more audible. "It's absolutely necessary for them to see it, so—"

"Ooh! That's cool! Who's it for?" Italy asked, excited. "Going to visit a lot of countries at once sounds fun, too!"

"Well, perhaps not _fun, _per say," England grumbled, wincing. "America was supposed to do it but he didn't want to miss his favorite show, that lazy git. The task has been dumped on me, and I've got to admit I'm getting quite tired of running around everywhere. At least I just have one more place to go, and then I'll be able to enjoy the rest of my day off."

"Where is this place? I'll take it for you!" Italy offered eagerly. He could do something to get his minds off things for a little while.

"You will?" England perked up at that, but then suddenly seemed to realize something. "Oh, but you're... aren't you— _ugh,_ you know what, never mind." He reached into his bag and brought out an unkempt collection of papers that had been hastily stacked together and stuffed into a leather folder. "Would you be able to bring this to Germany, then?"

Italy blinked at that. So he guessed he wasn't going to get a break from his brother's ominous words, after all. But it was no matter, since he got to see Germany again. "Sure! Is it more paperwork for him?" he asked, albeit a little sadly.

"What? That's— er, well, I mean—" England went pink as he stumbled over his words. "Yeah, paperwork," he concluded finally. "And it's really important that he look them over. Oh, and make sure every single piece of paper gets to him, alright?"

"Okay!" Italy was already clambering into his boots. "I'll see you around, England!"

"Later." The Brit still seemed somewhat doubtful, but managed to pull off half a smile and Italy skipped to his car, folder tucked under his arm.

He felt a little bad that he was visiting Germany only to give him even _more _work, but anything to see his face again. He was pulling up into his usual parking spot as always, and knocked on the familiar door. "Hello, Germany!" Italy chirped when it was answered.

"Hello, Italy." Germany looked rather out of place today. His same uniform was even more wrinkled and his hair was falling out of place; it had obviously been a rough night. "How are you today?"

"Ve~ I'm great, thanks for asking!" See, he was so nice! Italy didn't know how anyone could suggest otherwise. "Um, I'm really sorry, but I have something for you."

"What is it?" Germany frowned. "And why would you be sorry about it?"

Italy tentatively held out the folder. "Um, well, I know I don't like you in your office all the time and all, but England told me to bring this to you. I'm sorry it's more paperwork." He bit his lip.

Germany took the folder and sighed, but patted Italy on the shoulder. "Thank you," he said, before opening the folder and flipping through the contents inside.

"Any time! Say, maybe we can go for a short walk later on today? Or do you want me to make more pasta? I can go get some more wurst if you don't have any. Or maybe a little soccer like you pro—" Italy blinked. "Germany? Are you okay?"

During the middle of the Italian's speech, the blond had suddenly gone rigid while his eyes widened slightly at whatever was on the page he was currently on. There was no sound from him at first, and it took a few minutes before the German began to rediscover his voice. "This is..." his voice was thick with disbelief. "Italy, who gave this to you?"

"Huh? It was England," the brunette replied, raising his eyebrows. "Is there something wrong? Oh no! Are one of the papers missing!? I might have dropped it on my way here! I'm so sorry!"

Germany shook his head, still somewhat dazed. "No, that's not it," he murmured. "They're all there. Are you sure he said that this was for me?"

"I'm sure..." Now Italy was confused. "Why? Is it not for you?"

"No, it's just..." Something shifted in the blue eyes, and the German returned to his usual, serious self. "There's less stuff in need for being looked over than I thought, that's all," he said lightly.

"That's great, then!" Italy jumped up and down impatiently. "Hey, what are you doing now? Can you play with me, please~?"

Germany winced, seemingly unable to say anything at first. "I still can't, Italy," he mumbled regretfully. "I have too much stuff to do; I told you a million times. Er, but I guess you can come in and make some pasta again, if you want," he added quickly upon seeing the brunette's crestfallen face.

"Yay! Thank you!" Italy instantly grinned and hurled himself into the house. "Want me to add wurst in it again?"

"Sure, whatever you feel like doing," Germany said, half shrugging. "Call me when it's ready."

"Office?" Italy guessed dejectedly.

"No, I need a shower. After, I need to go to the post office and deliver some mail."

"Ooh! Can I go with you? Can I? Can I, please? It's been so long since I've been able to see you properly in the sun... maybe you're turning into a vampire!"

Germany paused. "I... don't see why not," he answered to the initial question, his cheeks turning pink at the other's words.

"Ve~! I get to go on a walk with Germany!" Italy was on the verge of dancing on top of the counter. He made sure he prepared the pasta to absolute perfection, and even poured a bit of wine he found in one of the cupboards into two cups.

"Wine in broad daylight?" Germany raised an eyebrow as he appeared, towelling his wet hair. Italy didn't see anything wrong with that, since Germany quite enjoyed his beer during the day as well. Lunch was a noisy affair, well, at least on Italy's side, anyway. He didn't care if he didn't get a long response; he was just happy to be together with the man again and Italy felt relief bubbling inside himself, as everything that had been rising as slightly suspicious finally seemed to deflate back to normal. Even Germany managed to keep the conversation going with a few questions of his own. Italy couldn't have been happier.

When they left the house, the sun was high and a slight breeze lingered in the air. As they walked the empty streets down to the post office, Italy's gaze fell to the bundle of letters enclosed in Germany's hand.

"What is all that?" he questioned, nodding to the yellow bunch of mail.

"Confirmation papers saying that I've looked over the documents that the others sent me," Germany replied amiably. "I've gotten through quite a lot of them, actually. I've only got about half left, as of the current moment."

"Really? That's so great!"

"Yes, it is," Germany agreed. "Afterwards we have to continue your training."

Italy couldn't help but groan. "But I don't need to train..." he whined under his breath.

The blond gave him a sharp look. "You can still barely tie your shoelaces as it is; what makes you think you can fight, let alone defend yourself when in danger?"

"But that's why I'm with you," Italy pointed out. "You're strong, so you can protect me."

"Look, I know it must be nice and all to have someone look after you, but I can't possibly be there for you all the time," Germany sighed. At Italy's stricken look, he hastily added, "Not that I don't want to or anything; it's just I have things of my own to do to as well, and when I'm busy I might not be able to keep an eye on you every minute of the day. That's why you must learn, alright?"

"I guess," Italy mumbled gloomily. "But I don't want to fight other people..."

"You don't have to, but sometimes there is no choice," Germany said matter-of-factly. "In this world, it's either fight and survive or let yourself disappear. There is no mercy or second chances."

"Ve... I think differently," Italy said after a minute, shrugging.

"What?" Germany frowned, turning to look at him.

"Even if everyone can't get along at times, we all have words and pasta, don't we? Why can't we just use words to express our feelings? We can completely get our point across by just going up to the person and telling them stuff over dinner, instead of shooting and blowing up their people."

Before Germany could reply to that, they turned a sharp corner and almost bumped right into Austria, whom had been walking out of the nearby café.

"Italy!" he said, smiling. "How have you been? And it's wonderful to see that you haven't dissipated inside your office yet, Germany. You look awfully pale; make sure to keep in the sun and get your Vitamin D."

"I'm great, thanks!" answered Italy with a grin while Germany fixed the other nation with an affronted scowl.

"That's good to hear," Austria said, before turning his attention back to the blonde man, ignoring the withering look. "Please do look after yourself; I would be devastated to hear anything worse than a mild headache."

"I don't need you to be fussing over my wellbeing," Germany huffed, his lips thinning with annoyance. "I'm not a kid."

"Oh, but you are. And of course I have every right to be concerned; your weakness soon leads to mine, and I do not wish for my downfall anytime soon," Austria countered mildly. "Therefore I must make absolute sure you're not killing yourself, because that would be most unfortunate for me."

Germany narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Now why would I do that? Right, Italy?" Austria's twinkling eyes glanced over to the brunette, whom had been slightly stunned at this little unexpected banter, quickly nodded because he wasn't sure of what else to do. "Well, I'm sorry but I'd best get going quickly, then. I do hope those tea cups have been washed, Germany. Last time I had to call Hungary because they were still sitting in the sink for a few days. Also, we're running out of cheese."

"Cups are in the left cupboard," Germany grounded out through clenched teeth. Italy was bewildered as to how Austria could possibly not be affected by the terrifying death glare Germany was giving him. Although he had been around him for a long time now, the German still frightened him in the small rare occasions where the man would actually get extremely angry. Even with the knowledge of them being friends, the brunette would not want the dark, icy daggers pointed at him. Not that they ever will, anyway. And even if Germany was very mad, Italy knew that in truth, he wouldn't really hurt a fly.

A harsh sigh escaped from the German's mouth, and his expression softened. "Sorry," he grunted. "I think sometimes he says things to annoy me on purpose."

"I'm sure Austria didn't mean any harm," Italy told him, laughing. "He did seem worried about you, though."

"It's not like that," protested Germany, as if to start an argument, but then seemed to decide against continuing. He cleared his throat and said, "Anyways, we'd better hurry. I'll deal with him later."

Once at the post office, Italy waited for the blonde man to finish up while he admired the flowers and shrubs in the garden. Germany was having a really long talk with the lady at the counter, and by the time Italy went back inside to see what was happening, Germany turned to leave, and the woman's hands were visibly trembling as she sorted the mail into their proper files. Germany seemed unperturbed, but Italy could almost feel the irritation radiating from the man's figure.

"I think you scared her," Italy said, pouting a little. "Why'd you do that? She was pretty."

Germany gave him a side glance. "She was being obstinate," he muttered. "Wouldn't let me send them all at once, because apparently I 'can't exceed the fifteen post limit per day'."

"Can't you just phone all the countries and tell them that you're done?" Italy asked, puzzled.

"I can't," Germany replied glumly. "They need physical proof."

They ended up taking the long way home, crossing the park and passing a small pond that housed a small family of ducks. They talked about many things, and Italy even got Germany to feed the ducks, although it took a while to convince him to do so. By the time they were almost home, the sun was setting, and the air was chilly. Nevertheless, Italy hadn't felt this content for a while now. His mood was soaring and he felt as if things were finally beginning to work out. He skipped to the door and waited for Germany to catch up and unlock it.

Once inside, they had a quick dinner, scraping the plates free from leftovers. Despite the lack of a luxurious supper, everything was still running well. And once again all too fast, it was getting late. Italy longed to stay the night, but a part of him didn't want Germany to get annoyed again; he seemed to be in quite a good mood as of now and the brunette didn't want to ruin this perfect moment. The German noticed him staring, and turned to look.

"What's the matter?" he asked curiously, seeing Italy just standing there awkwardly, looking hesitant.

"Oh, I—" Italy scrunched up his face, trying to come up with a good excuse. "Well, I had a really good time today, Germany, and I didn't want to go so soon... I mean, it's getting late, so, uh— maybe I could, like, stay a little longer... but I'll leave if you want me to!" he finished shrilly, afraid of the answer.

Germany looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't mind if you sleep over," he said finally, shrugging.

Italy thought he could fly. "Really!?"

"Well, I'd rather keep you here than have you sneaking into my room naked, in the middle of the night," Germany said, frowning. "Speaking of which, you need to wear pants if you're going to be staying."

But Italy wasn't listening, for he was already on his way to squeeze Germany with a bone-crushing hug (well, not _quite; _he wasn't actually that strong). He jumped into the other's arms and clung on like some sort of giant parasite. "Thank you so much Germany!" he cried, voice muffled by the folds of the uniform. "Germany is so nice! I love you so much!"

"Er..." He quickly caught the Italian before he slipped and made sure he didn't fall and break his ass. "Right," he concluded, face going pink again. "Thanks... I guess... But it's not the first time I've allowed you to stay over, you know," he reminded him, obviously with an attempt to stay nonchalant, but Italy could see right through him. "You don't have to act like I saved the world or anything."

"Oh, but you did!" Italy smiled. "You save my world from bad things every day, even if we're just sitting down and eating pasta, or even just talking. You're a good person, Germany."

The blonde smiled, one might've noticed a hint of sadness in those blue eyes. "Am I?" he asked softly.

"Of course!" Italy giggled, poking his friend in the ribs. "And you're also really shy."

"Wha— you—" Germany spluttered, face going from pink to deep red. "I am _not _shy!" Italy just laughed out loud and dashed up the stairs before he was tackled to the ground.

...

That night, the brunette felt safer and more at home than he ever had in quite a while. He knew he should be feeling guilty for not spending more time at his own house and with his brother, and he _was,_ but for now, he felt as though staying here was the best for both he and Romano. He closed his eyes, sighing with content as sleep found its way over and embraced him with warm, loving arms that were just as big and strong as Germany's own.

* * *

**Well, then. That was... _interesting._ xD I hope it was to you as well, although in a different sense as to what I implied. ;P**

**Like? Love? Hate? Please tell me what you think; your reviews will be greatly appreciated! :)**


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